


Nemo Iudex in Causa Sua

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-10-30 16:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10880922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: When Carisi is seriously injured by a suspect, Barba must deal with both the personal and professional ramifications.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was only meant to be, like, 2500 words long, but as you can see, it sort of grew of its own accord.
> 
> Will probably be 5 chapters, though that may change. Nominally set during season 18 but doesn't really reference anything. 
> 
> Title is a legal term that literally means "no-one should be a judge in his own cause"; its intent will become clearer as this goes on.
> 
> Constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: I own solely my lovely and very dedicated typos. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Carisi picked up his phone without looking at who was calling. “Carisi,” he said, navigating his car down a one-way street with only one hand.

“It’s Benson,” Olivia told him, and Carisi automatically smiled.

“Hey, Lieu - I’m already on my way to your place, and provided Lucy bought everything on the grocery list, I swear on my grandma’s puttanesca recipe that SVU’s gonna have a good meal tonight.”

Olivia laughed. “I’m sure that we will,” she assured him, “but before you get cooking, I need you to swing by the suspect’s apartment on your way to mine.”

Carisi automatically sat up straighter, his smile turning into something more serious. “Tony Reever?” he asked, naming the suspect in their latest case, a he-said, she-said violent rape where the perp was claiming that the violence was kinky, negotiated ahead of time and consensual. The girl, of course, said otherwise. “We got something new?”

“We might,” Olivia said. “Rollins pulled the footage from the vic’s apartment building that shows him arriving only three minutes before neighbors called the police and reported her screaming.”

“Three minutes is an awfully short time to negotiate the type of violence he’s claiming was consensual,” Carisi said.

“Exactly,” Olivia said, and he could hear the grim smile in her voice. “So I need you to verify his timeline, see if we can catch him in another lie.”

Carisi nodded. “Do you want me to bring him in?”

“And ruin our puttanesca?” Olivia asked, mock-outraged, and Carisi laughed. “No, we need to circle back to the neighbors and 911 calls, as well as any previous contact the vic had with the perp before Barba will say that we have enough to bring him in.”

At even the mere mention of the ADA, Carisi brightened, and he was momentarily glad that Olivia couldn’t see the grin that spread across his face. “Are you gonna loop him in?” he asked.

“Heading over there now,” Olivia told him before asking, “Do you want me to invite him for dinner?”

“Of course,” Carisi said instantly, then tripped over himself trying to explain, “I mean, he’s practically one of us and everything, so it seems only right that he’s there, and Lord knows my grandma’s recipe makes enough food for, like, twenty people, so I really don’t think it’ll be a problem, and—”

“Ok, Carisi, I’ll invite him,” Olivia said, cutting him off, and Carisi huffed a sigh, doubly glad that Olivia was also not here to see him blush. “Let me know if you have any problems with Reever.”

Carisi promised he would and hung up before changing directions to head to Reever’s apartment, which was thankfully at least semi-on the way to Benson’s place. He wasn’t too surprised when Reever buzzed him in — few suspects trying to play the ‘it was consensual’ card wanted to do something that would make SVU suspicious, and Reever was no exception. “What can I do for you, Detective?” Reever asked, a little nervously, when he opened the door for Carisi.

“I just had a few quick questions for you,” Carisi said, giving Reever his most disarming grin. “I promise I’ll be outta your hair before you know it.” He glanced over Reever’s shoulder, surprised to see a dufflebag open and half-packed on the coffeetable. “You heading out somewhere?”

Reever glanced behind him at the dufflebag. “Oh, uh, just heading to my parents for the weekend. I know you guys told me not to go out of town, but I just needed to get away.”

Something about Reever’s attitude was getting Carisi’s hackles up, and he nodded slowly. “Ok,” he said, thinking quickly, “but you’re gonna have to tell me where you parents live. Protocol, and all.” He shrugged as if it irritated him just as much as it irritated Reever. “You know how it is.”

“Um, sure,” Reever said, clearly reluctant. “I’ll write it down for you.” He stepped away from the door and gestured for Carisi to step into the apartment. “Uh, what did you want to ask me?”

“Oh, right,” Carisi said, watching as Reever headed into the bedroom, clearly in search of paper and a pen. “I just wanted to ask you again about what time you went over to Samantha’s apartment that night.”

Reever called from the bedroom, “Again? Didn’t I already tell you guys that?”

“Well, we just need to verify a couple things,” Carisi told him, shoving his hands in his pocket as he looked around, A weird part of him was tempted to draw his gun, but he didn’t know why or what was setting off his cop radar, but something didn’t feel right. “You told Det. Tutuola that you got there around 9, right?”

There was no answer from within the bedroom, and Carisi frowned. “Tony?” he called, and when there was again no answer, Carisi did draw his gun, all senses on high alert as he carefully crossed towards the bedroom. “Tony?”

He peered carefully into Reever’s bedroom, and when he didn’t see Tony, Carisi took a step into the room, ready to call his name again.

He never got the chance.

From nowhere, Reever appeared, baseball bat in hand, and the last thing Carisi remembered before everything went black was the sudden explosion of pain from the side of his head.

* * *

 

“Do you have any dinner plans tonight?” Olivia asked in lieu of a greeting as she strode into Barba’s office without knocking.

Barba glanced up from the file he was reading, his feet propped up on his desk. “Why?” he asked, clearly suspicious. “Obviously you’re here to ruin whatever plans I may have had, so you might as well just tell me what it is you need me for. New case? Perp who wants to make a deal? Warrant that you need?”

Olivia arched an eyebrow at him as she sat down on the other side of his desk. “Believe it or not, no. This is more of a social call than a work call. We’re still chasing down a few pieces of evidence in the Samantha Martin case. But clearly you have a lot on your mind.”

Sighing, Barba sat up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Long week,” he said shortly, and Olivia nodded but didn’t press the matter. “But if this is in fact a social call, I’m sure whatever you’re going to suggest will be just the thing I need, provided there’s alcohol involved.”

“There will be, though I’m afraid it’ll be red wine instead of scotch,” Olivia told him with a smile. “Carisi’s cooking for SVU at my place tonight, and I wanted to extend an invitation to you.”

Barba smiled as well. “Carisi in the kitchen?” he said. “Please tell he wears an apron when he cooks, as if I needed more material to mock him with.”

Olivia laughed. “If you want to know if he wears an apron, you’ll just have to come and see for yourself,” she said, her tone teasing.

“Well, with an offer like that, how can I possibly refuse?” Barba asked with a mock-sigh. “And I suppose it doesn’t hurt that Carisi is a surprisingly decent cook, at least from the leftovers he’s foisted on me multiple times.” He was clearly aiming for snark but something in his tone was far too fond for it to actually reach that level, and Olivia was tactful enough not to mention it. “What time do you want me there?”

“Carisi was swinging by the suspect’s apartment to ask him a few follow-up questions, and I haven’t heard from him about any issues, so I imagine he’s at my place already. Which means dinner should be ready…” She trailed off, clearly trying to think of how long it took to cook, and Barba sniggered.

“I see you’re still the picture of domesticity.”

Olivia gave him a look. “You’re one to talk. When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”

“At my mother’s, every Sunday,” Barba said promptly, though he also grinned. “So point taken.”

“Anyway, plan on 7:30 for dinner—” Olivia started, though she broke off when her phone rang, and her forehead creased when she saw who was calling. “Benson.”

Barba glanced up at her, curiosity turning into concern as all of the blood seemed to drain from Olivia’s face, and he was on his feet before she even hung up. “It’s Carisi,” she reported, something bordering on panic in her expression. “He’s been attacked.”

* * *

 

Barba had no memory of grabbing of his coat, of following Olivia to her squad car and riding with her to the hospital, though he assumed all of these things must have happened for him to be standing in the emergency room at Lincoln Hospital. He watched the bustling of nurses and doctors and patients in a detached daze, following Olivia, Fin and Rollins to the waiting room, sitting in those uncomfortable chairs, answering questions asked of him, though he also couldn’t remember later what those questions were.

The only thing he could think about was that this was the hospital where Mike Dodds died.

He was sure he was not the only one thinking about this, as the minutes stretched into hours and Carisi was still in surgery, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, to even address the possibility or the thought that Carisi—

That Carisi might not—

But then the doctor came, and with her the news that Sonny was out of surgery. And while all the details leading up to that point might later be fuzzy, Barba knew that he would never forget following the doctor to recovery and seeing Carisi lying in that hospital bed, his face bruised and broken and puffy, and if that was just his face, what had the bastard done to the rest of him?

“Someone should stay with him,” Rollins said softly. “Until his family gets here.”

Barba didn’t hesitate. “I will,” he said, crossing to Carisi’s side and gripping the edge of the hospital bed for dear life. He looked up at Rollins, at Fin, at Olivia, and told them, fury radiating from every line of his body, “You just find him.”

Rollins and Fin nodded but Olivia hesitated, as if she wanted to say something more. “Give us a minute,” she told the two detectives quietly, and they stepped out of the room, leaving Olivia alone with Barba, who had reached out to lightly set his hand on the top of Carisi’s head, on the side that wasn’t wrapped in bandages. “Are you sure you want to stay?”

“I’m sure,” Barba said, not looking up from Carisi. “I have nothing pressing on my plate, and I can’t really do much to assist the manhunt for Tony Reever.” He did look up at Olivia then. “And I need to know that the NYPD is doing everything they can to find him.”

“Of course,” Olivia said, hesitating again, though this time, she chose not to say whatever she was thinking. “Call if there’s any update.”

With that, she left, and Barba turned again to Carisi, his shoulders sagging now that he was alone. He thought about saying something to the detective, giving him some kind of encouragement. Get well soon didn’t quite feel right, but— “If you die, I won’t have anyone at SVU to torment,” he said instead, aiming for his usual levity as he gently ran his fingers through the little bit of Carisi’s stupid poofy hair that wasn’t covered with bandages. “Liv’s too used to my banter, Rollins always seems to take it the wrong way, and truthfully, I haven’t tried much with Fin. I mean, could you even imagine—”

He broke off when he felt the dried blood in Carisi’s hair.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

For a long moment, he just stood there like that, silent, one hand tangled in the detective’s hair, the other clutching the railing of the hospital bed as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. Then, in a low voice, all attempts at humor gone, he told Carisi, a fierce edge to his voice, “Don’t you dare die.”

Barba could picture what Carisi’s response would have been, had he been awake, the way his eyes would crinkle in a smile as he asked Barba in that obnoxious Staten Island drawl,  _ “You trying to boss me around, Counselor? Cuz I don’t take my orders from the DA’s office.” _

_ “Funny,” _ Barba would shoot back with a smirk,  _ “because I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what you do.” _ And then, if they were walking together from court, and if Barba were feeling particularly ballsy,  _ “Fetch. Heel. Good boy.” _

Most other cops would probably be a little offended, and he’d never even joke that way with Olivia or the other SVU detectives, but when it came to Sonny— Well, then it was all for that moment, after he said something like that, where Carisi would throw his head back and laugh, or give as good as he got, or even just roll his eyes exaggeratedly.

Barba lived for those moments.

But the only response now was the steady beeping of the machines surrounding Carisi, keeping him breathing, keeping him alive.

He spent the rest of the night alone with his thoughts, perched on the no-less-uncomfortable chair next to Carisi’s bed. Barba didn’t try talking to Carisi again. He wasn’t sure he could stand getting no response back.

The sun was trickling in through the window down the hallway by the time the doctor came in to check on Carisi. “Mr. Barba?” she asked, offering him her hand. “Lt. Benson told me you were staying with Det. Carisi overnight.”

“How is he?” Barba asked as he shook her hand.

“Stable enough to move him out of ICU,” she said, marking something on Carisi’s chart. “At this point, it’s just a waiting game to see when or if he wakes up.”

Barba felt the word like a punch to his gut. “If?” he repeated quietly.

The doctor glanced over at him and gave him a sympathetic smile. “We’ll know more once we get some tests back,” she told him, though she hesitated before adding, “But Det. Carisi suffered serious injuries, and there’s little way to know for sure.” She sighed and shook her head. “I know the police prefer straight answers, but—”

“I’m a lawyer,” Barba interrupted, giving her a small, understanding smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I understand gray areas, and not wanting to say too much.” He rolled his shoulders to try to get some of the kinks out and checked his watch. “Will someone from the hospital let us know once he’s been moved?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes, and I believe his sister is on her way as well, if you want to stay to talk to her.”

Barba hesitated, then huffed a short laugh. “Thanks, but I’m sure you’re more capable of filling her in than I am.” He gathered his coat and glanced back at Carisi, wanting to say something but not sure what.

Instead, he just left, ordering an Uber and heading outside to wait for it. He cracked his neck and glanced at the time again, debating over just going home and changing and heading into the office or calling Carmen to take the morning off and getting what little sleep he could.

He called Carmen from the Uber. “Mr. Barba,” Carmen said, a little surprised. “I didn’t expect to hear from you this morning. Lt. Benson called to tell me what had happened and that you’d be taking the morning off.”

Barba was surprised, but recovered quickly enough. “Right,” he said, making a snap decision. “Do I have anything this afternoon that can’t be rescheduled?”

“No,” Carmen reported after a brief moment of checking his calendar. “Will you be taking the whole day off?”

Her voice was just a little too sympathetic, a little too understanding, and Barba should probably have been worried about someone else reading into it, but frankly, he was too emotionally exhausted to care at that moment, with the Uber approaching his apartment. “Yes,” he said finally. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Once he finally got home, Barba was torn between showering or heading straight to bed, but since he felt like he might pass out in the shower, decided bed was the better idea. He lay down and closed his eyes and waited for his exhaustion to take over.

And he tried not to think about the dried blood in Sonny’s hair.


	2. Chapter 2

When Barba finally fell asleep, the late-morning sun was hanging high in the sky; when he awoke, the sun was just beginning to rise, and it took him a moment to realize that he he had slept the rest of the day and most of the night. Frankly, it was more sleep than he had gotten in years, and it was no wonder that he was so disoriented when he awoke.

He sat up and stretched, the fuzzy warmth of sleep falling into abrupt and painful realization: Carisi had been hurt, badly, and the doctors didn’t know when or if he’d wake up.

For a brief moment, Barba gripped the edge of his bed, his hands trembling like they hadn’t since Felipe Heredio had threatened his life in broad daylight on the courtroom steps. But then, it had been only his own life at stake, and he could easily hide the tremble in his hands behind bluster and bravado.

He had significantly less recourse when it came to Sonny.

At the thought of Carisi, Barba automatically rolled over to grab his phone and check whether Olivia had texted him any updates while he was seemingly passed out.

His heart nearly tripped out of his chest when he saw that the only text message he had was from Carisi.

After a panicked fumble with his phone, where his fingers seemed incapable of typing his four number passcode, Barba accessed the waiting text message, and his heart gave a painful stutter when he realized it wasn’t from Carisi at all. It was from Carisi’s sister — apparently, she had used his cellphone to let SVU and Barba know what room number they had transferred Sonny to.

Barba let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, and the phone fell out of his hand and landed on the bed. He stared at the wall across from his bed for what felt like an hour, though was probably only minutes. It was long enough for him to realize that the painting hung on that wall was slightly crooked, and when he finally stood, he crossed the painting and adjusted it, stepping back and looking at it critically, giving a satisfied eye when it looked more in place.

He declined to follow the psychoanalytic thought about controlling what little he could in his life.

Since he had neglected to shower...the previous morning, he realized, as his caffeine-deprived mind took its sweet time catching up to the rest of him, he stumbled into his bathroom and let the scalding hot water wash over him as if it might wash away all the events of the previous two days.

When he finally got out of the shower, he dressed himself quickly, robotically, selecting almost numbly his charcoal gray suit and an appropriately somber navy and white striped tie and coordinating pocket square from his closet.

Putting the suit on felt a little bit like putting on armor, and Barba relished the feeling, relished hiding himself in each layer of clothes. The reserved colors were helpful as well, not just in reflecting his own mood, but in shielding him from thinking about Carisi’s usually inevitable comments about whatever brightly-colored tie and socks he chose for the day.

_ “That color tangerine suits you,” _ Carisi would tell him, his blue eyes glittering with an unspoken joke, and Barba, hidden behind a casefile or a cup of coffee or whatever he would use that day to shield himself from Sonny Carisi and the part of himself that wouldn’t instantly dismiss the detective and whatever inane comments he brought, would merely quirk a questioning eyebrow at him.  _ “It brings out the asshole in you.” _

Barba would smile, because only Sonny could away with saying that. Rita might comment on his more extravagant wardrobe choices, and his own mother might occasionally remind him that subtle colors also got the job done, but none of them quite brought it up like Carisi.

He didn’t know what he would’ve done if they did.

But with Carisi, it was easy, so easy, to smirk and favor him with an exasperated yet slightly fond gaze and tell him,  _ “Maybe it’s not the color but the company that brings out the asshole in me, Detective.” _

He could keep spinning that imaginary conversation in his head all day, but where it might once have put a smile on his face, now it only seemed to edge the hollow emptiness in his chest with pain. And while more than a few of  the people in Barba’s life might accuse him of having a masochistic streak, not even he would get any joy out of tormenting himself this way.

Instead, he made his way into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee and hesitated before texting Olivia.  _ Let me know if there are any updates. _

It probably didn’t need to be said, and Barba wasn’t surprised that she didn’t text back — though the early hour might also contribute to that, since he doubted either Olivia or her team had spent much time away from the precinct since the attack.

Even so, the simple text message let Barba feel, even for only a moment, like he was somehow involved, and it was with slightly more determination that he poured the coffee into a travel mug and left early for work, almost looking forward to the distraction of everything that had inevitably piled up during his impromptu day off.

* * *

 

As it turned out, the only thing waiting for Barba at work was a seemingly insurmountable pile of paperwork which left him distracted and irritable throughout the entire day. Poor Carmen caught the brunt of his irascibility, and if she were any less of a superhuman, she probably would’ve snapped and quit on him after the third time he yelled at her about something that she couldn’t control.

Luckily, she didn’t, though she did stand in the doorway to his office at the end of the day and gave him a disapproving look as she asked, “Is there anything else you need today, Mr. Barba?” in a tone that told him that he owed her flowers at least and a day off at best as an apology.

He sighed. “No, you’re free to go,” he said, not bothering to apologize. They both knew he was sorry and they both knew he’d find a way to make it up to her.

And if the concerned look she gave him before leaving was any indication, they also both knew exactly why he was acting like this. Barba sighed again and looked at his cellphone, which had remained conspicuously quiet throughout the day.

He hesitated before again texting Olivia:  _ Any update? _

She sent only two words in reply:  _ No change. _

Barba huffed a sigh and ran a tired hand across his face before glancing acrimoniously at the remaining pile of paperwork. “Fuck it,” he muttered out loud to absolutely no one, standing and grabbing his coat before making a beeline out of 1 Hogan Place to the closest bar.

He had grand plans to drown himself in just slightly above well scotch, but after the bartender had brought him a fairly generous two fingers, Rita Calhoun appeared, glass in hand. “May I join you?” she asked, holding out the glass as an offering.

Barba barely spared her or the glass a second glance. “Thanks, but I take my scotch neat,” he said, draining his glass of scotch as if to prove his own point.

Of course, Rita sat down next to him regardless and slid the glass across the bar to him. “You may take your scotch neat, but you take bourbon on the rocks,” she told him with just a hint of smug superiority. It was her way, he supposed, of reminding him how well she knew him. Barba merely gave her a smile that was probably closer to a grimace and lifted the proffered glass in a silent toast before draining it. “Bad day?” Rita asked lightly.

“You could say that,” he muttered, signaling the bartender for another drink. Once he had another glass in hand, Barba slowly swirled the amber liquid, carefully avoiding Rita’s gaze as he asked with forced casualness, “I assume you heard about Det. Carisi?”

“I did,” Rita said, her expression carefully neutral as she sipped her martini. “I’m honestly surprised you’re not keeping vigil at his bedside.” Barba knew Rita far too well to rise to the bait, and he settled for grunting in acknowledgement and slamming his second glass of scotch. “How is SVU’s most enthusiastic detective?”

Barba shook his head and ran his finger distractedly around the rim of his empty glass. “No change,” he reported, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Rita nodded slowly, something like sympathy in her expression. “I’m sorry,” she offered.

Shrugging, Barba gestured to the bartender for yet another drink. “We all are,” he said carelessly, and he felt Rita’s gaze change from sympathy to something closer to pity as he threw back his third glass of scotch.

“Not that it’s my place to say anything,” Rita said delicately, “but if you were waiting for the right time to deal with...well, what you and I both know you’ve been avoiding dealing with, now would probably be the time.”

Barba didn’t bother denying anything or refuting her unspoken conclusion. For one, he was too drunk to eloquently cut her argument down to size, and heaven forbid Rafael Barba be anything less than eloquent. For another, he was also drunk enough that it didn’t occur to him that he should bother denying anything. “I’ll take that under advisement, Counselor,” he said instead.

He contemplated ordering another drink, but the heaviness in his limbs and the look on Rita’s face told him that was probably a bad idea, so instead he fished for his wallet and tossed a few bills onto the counter. “Leaving so soon?” Rita asked, her sympathetic expression shifting into something more calculating. “I hope it wasn’t anything I said.”

As if Barba would ever give her the satisfaction. “Not at all,” he told her, forcing his voice to sound as light as he could make it. “I have an early morning. Putting together a case against an attempted cop killer takes top priority, after all, with the DA, Mayor and NYPD brass all breathing down my neck.”

If anything, Rita’s expression turned even more calculating. “Are you planning on trying the case?” she asked lightly, and at Barba’s confused look, quickly added, “I mean, attempted homicide doesn’t necessarily fall under SVU’s purview. I just wouldn’t be surprised if the DA wanted someone else to try the case.”

“If it goes to trial, I intend to ask the judge to consider the rape as part of the assault of a police officer and attempted homicide case,” Barba said bluntly. “After all, the latter two crimes wouldn’t have occurred had the perp not committed the first, and I’m fairly certain I can convince almost any judge of that.”

Rita nodded slowly. “As a defense attorney—” she stared, but Barba cut her off.

“Forgive me, Counselor, but unless you intend on representing the perp as his attorney, I don’t really care what you would do.” As if seeking to soften his words, Barba shot her an approximation of his normal smile. “I imagine his own counsel won’t be nearly as adept as you.”

Rita didn’t smile. “Be that as it may, before you seek to try this case, there are some things you should consider,” she told him. “Least of which is whatever you may feel for Det. Carisi.”

Barba’s smile turned cold. “Fascinating though your insight may be, Counselor, I’m more than capable of trying my own cases,” he told her, as clear a dismissal as anything he could muster. “Thanks for the drink.”

With that, he left, well aware that Rita was staring after him as he stalked out of the bar. The truth, of course, was that Rita did know him too well, and as such knew exactly how to get under his skin.

He had always hated admitting when she was right.

But in this case, her stubborn insistence that Barba deal with the unspoken thing between him and Carisi was not entirely misguided, as loath as Barba was to admit it. He at least had been dancing around acknowledging, let alone acting on, what utterly idiotic feelings he had towards the detective for long enough that it was practically routine at this point.

And yet, with Carisi in the hospital, with the doctors unsure of when he would wake up, with those thoughts alone enough to distract him from an entire day of work, Barba knew there was nothing routine about this.

Then again, Barba had avoided dealing with whatever this was for so long that he had built an entire defense mechanism around it, and even this was not enough to convince Barba that jeopardizing everything he built was worth it.

_ “You’re a coward.” _

Carisi’s voice formed the words so easily in his head, because he had said them out loud, once, when Barba had disagreed with him on how to pursue a case. Carisi had cited case law in an admirable effort to convince him to add charges, but Barba knew it was a lost cause.  _ “Just because I’m not suicidal doesn’t mean I’m a coward,” _ Barba had shot back.  _ “Not that I’d expect a mere detective to know the difference.” _

It had been a purposefully cruel jab, only a few short weeks after Carisi had told him that he wasn’t going to move forward with pursuing an ADA position, and Carisi had reacted as such, a hurt look crossing his face. But now, replaying the conversation in his head, even as then, Carisi had shaken it off and refused to backed down.  _ “You used to care more about doing what was right than your career.” _

And maybe Barba had, once, but in this instance, with Carisi’s attack — this wasn’t about Barba’s career, as much as it would be career suicide for both him and Carisi for an ADA to date an NYPD detective, let alone a male NYPD detective.  _ “Doing what’s right means winning,” _ Barba had told him then, and he repeated it to himself as an Uber drove him back to his apartment.

Doing what’s right meant winning, and winning meant Barba had to put everything else aside.

Still, as he let himself into his empty apartment, as he tugged off his tie and kicked off his shoes, Barba couldn’t help but text Carisi’s cellphone, assuming that his sister probably still had it:  _ How is Sonny doing? _

As soon as he had sent it, Barba regretted it, and considered sending a quick clarifying text, since he had only ever met one of Carisi’s sisters and the assumed familiarity might be taken the wrong way from Carisi’s other two sisters.

Luckily, Bella was the sister in possession of Carisi’s phone, as evidenced by her quick reply:  _ Rafael!! So good 2 hear from U. No change w/ Sonny. When R U gonna come visit? Xx Bella _

Barba hesitated before sending his reply:  _ When he wakes up. _

He didn’t bother telling her that he had been unable to get the image of Carisi in that hospital out of his head all day, that the very idea of returning to the hospital with Carisi unable to sit up or speak or give him that sweet half-smile physically pained Barba to even consider.

If his answer disappointed Bella, she made no note of it in her reply:  _ Good. I know Sonny will want 2 see U. _

Barba didn’t bother replying to that.

Instead, he changed out of his suit and slipped into bed, realizing only once the lights were off that he hadn’t technically eaten dinner, since scotch and bourbon hardly counted. Then again, the gnawing in his stomach seemed to be more related to the case than to the lack of food, and besides, he was tired enough that sleep should find him easily.

How wrong he was about that.

Instead, Barba found himself tossing and turning and staring up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that refused to even temporarily acknowledge him or his need.

Which was why he was awake at 3 a.m. when his cellphone pinged, and for a moment, he debated not looking at his cellphone because whoever was texting him at 3 in the morning could probably have just waited a few more hours for a time actually fit for man.

But curiosity won as it so often did, and Barba rolled over, pulling up the text without looking at his phone. When he finally read the words on the screen, he dropped the phone for the second time that day, though this time for markedly different reasons.

The text was only two words long, but Barba had never realized just how much happiness two simple words could bring:  _ He’s awake. _


	3. Chapter 3

Barba was out of bed in a heartbeat, stumbling to his closet and grabbing the first clothes that he saw, which ended up being an old Harvard sweatshirt and his bright blue jogging pants. Luckily, shortly after he was clothed and before he could inflict the sight of himself on another human, logic actually caught up to him, and Barba stopped in his tracks, halfway through pouring coffee into a travel mug.

The clock on the oven in the kitchen told him that it was only 3:25, and while SVU might be able to wave their badges and get into the hospital at any hour of the night, Barba didn’t have the same luxury.

And besides, since when was Barba the kind of man to run to the bedside of a, what, coworker?

Despite whatever one-sided conversations Barba might entertain in his head, he and Carisi weren’t dating. Not even close. And last he checked, constant sniping at each other was not what great friendships were built on either. Which put Carisi in roughly the same category as any other detective — and Barba sure as hell hadn’t burst into the hospital at 3 in the morning when Rollins had her baby.

In fact, he wasn’t even sure he’d sent a card.

All of which meant that rushing to Carisi’s bedside would be not only unnecessary and overdramatic, but out of character. And Barba had done enough things out of character of recent. He’d let SVU be the ones to rush to Sonny’s side, and Barba would stop by when or if he was in the neighborhood next. In the meantime, he’d have Carmen call the gift shop at the hospital when she got in to work to send a nice balloon bouquet to Carisi’s room. Something that said, “Glad you’re not dead” but didn’t at all imply, “Because I’d be heartbroken if you were.” Something tasteful. Something...appropriate.

Something unlike most of the thoughts he’d had since Carisi had been injured, which had abandoned appropriate somewhere in Liv’s car between his office and the hospital.

Barba sighed and glanced at the clock, which stubbornly remained a time far too early for either man or beast. He weighed his options: going back to sleep, an almost impossibility at this point; actually using his jogging pants for their intended purpose, an almost comical thought; or showering and heading into work even earlier than normal.

It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out which option Barba chose.

But as Barba stood in the shower, letting the water cascade over him, he felt himself relax for the first time in three days, along with a warm, comforting feeling that he couldn’t quite name.

It wasn’t until he was tying his pink-checkered tie that he recognized the feeling for what it was: relief.

* * *

 

On his way into the office, Barba swung by a bakery and picked up coffee and a few cannolis, knowing from the several occasions when Carisi had foisted the pastries on him that Carmen enjoyed them. And he tried in vain to ignore Carisi’s voice in his head. _“It’s not_ cannolis _, Counselor,”_ he’d say, mock-exasperated. _“Cannoli’s already plural, singular cannolo.”_

But Barba’s internal voice, it seemed, was as incapable of letting Carisi have the last word as his external voice was, especially when Carisi sounded that damn smug. _“Yes, please, as someone who charitably speaks one-and-a-half languages, feel free to lecture someone who’s actually bilingual on the intricacies of a third language.”_

Of course, that wouldn’t be the end of it, not when Barba could see Carisi’s eyes widen in mock-hurt. _“Don’t forget I also speak Latin, good Catholic boy and all that. That has to at least bump my language knowledge to two full languages.”_

Barba rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips almost against his will, and said aloud exactly what he would say to Carisi in this hypothetical conversation: “Deus adiuvet nos omnes.”

His smile lasted all the way to his office, but it disappeared when he saw the manilla envelope delivered overnight at some point and waiting on Carmen’s desk, because he knew what was in the envelope: pictures from Carisi’s crime scene.

He knew he needed to see the pictures, needed to build the case, but it still felt like a punch to his stomach, and his previous good mood dissipated. He picked up the envelope and put the coffee and cannoli on Carmen’s desk in its place before disappearing into his office, tossing the envelope to the side and picking up a different casefile to distract him until he could actually stomach seeing the pictures.

When Carmen appeared in his office doorway a few hours later, the envelope was still unopened. “Thank you for the cannoli,” she said, offering him a tentative smile, clearly trying to gauge his mood that day. “The coffee was unfortunately a little on the cold side.”

Barba blinked at her and glanced at the clock. “Next time I’ll get you iced coffee.”

“Great, so it’ll not only be room temperature by the time a normal person gets into the office, but it’ll have the added benefit of being watered down,” Carmen quipped, and Barba grinned. She hesitated for a moment before asking, far too casually for Barba to not realize this was the actual reason she had come into his office, “Any change?”

Barba thought far too highly of Carmen to bother pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Yes. Det. Carisi’s awake.”

Carmen broke into a genuine smile, relief clear in her expression. “Have you been to see him?” she asked, and while the question was edging the conversation towards unprofessional, Barba supposed that given his behavior the previous day, he owed her a little intrusion into his life.

“Not yet.”

Carmen’s relief disappeared, replaced by something Barba couldn’t quite place — confusion, certainly, and maybe a little concern. “Do you need me to clear your schedule for this afternoon so that you can go to the hospital?” she asked carefully.

Barba shook his head, his attention already returning to the casefile in his hand. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, a clear dismissal.

“Mr. Barba—” she started, but broke off, clearly not willing to pursue what question she had, and Barba didn’t bother looking back up at her, sure that whatever expression she was wearing now he didn’t want to see. After a moment, she asked, just a little stiffly, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Actually, yes,” Barba said after a moment, remembering his errant thoughts from earlier that morning, and he glanced back up at her. “Can you call the hospital gift shop, arrange for a ‘get well soon’ balloon bouquet or something similar to be sent to Det. Carisi’s room? You still have my credit card number, correct?”

The latter question was unnecessary, since Barba was pretty sure that Carmen had his social security number filed away just in case, but it served its purpose of distracting her from whatever disapproving response she was going to give. “I do,” she said, though she hesitated before asking, “Do you want to approve what I purchase?”

Barba waved a dismissive hand and told her, with sincerity, “In this as most things, I trust your judgment.”

It was as close to a compliment as he was willing to give, and based on Carmen’s answering smile, she took it as such, nodding and closing the door after her as she left. Barba looked back at the casefile in front of him, but it was an open-and-shut case that he was certain he could get a plea deal out of, which meant it was time to finally focus on the Tony Reever case.

He opened the manilla envelope and pulled the photos out, struggling to keep his expression impassive, even it was an act that no one was there to see. And while the photos from the crime scene itself were bad — blood splatter on the walls, a bloody baseball bat left at the scene — they were nothing compared to the photos of the damage done to Carisi.

Barba didn’t know why it physically pained him to look at those photos. After all, he had spent that first night with Carisi, seen the damage done in person. But somehow, laid out so clinically, it made every bruise and cut and broken bone that much worse.

He didn’t even realize he had clenched his fist until he heard the sound of paper crumpling, and it took him a long time to regulate his breathing and force his fist to unclench, the photo in question, a close-up of Carisi’s face, almost unrecognizable under the swelling and bruising, falling to the floor.

Barba took a deep breath and looked back at the pictures, arranging them with the pictures from the Samantha Martin crime scene, drawing on the rage he could still feel in the clench of his jaw and slight tremble of his fingers and channeling it into productivity, grabbing his legal pad and starting to jot down notes.

He was going to make sure that as soon as SVU caught Tony Reever, the bastard never spent another moment as a free man.

* * *

 

Barba’s rage had subsided somewhat by the end of the day, and he was confident, even bordering on cocky, that the case was solid enough that he could nail Tony Reever on first degree rape of Samantha Martin, which, coupled with assault on a police officer and attempted homicide, would put him away for life.

And if Barba had his way, it’d be without the possibility of parole.

He stretched and glanced at the clock, a little surprised it wasn’t yet 7. He looked back at his notes before standing, knowing he’d be better coming in early again the next day with fresh eyes rather than staying at the office.

His cellphone rang, and Barba glanced down at it, unsurprised by Olivia’s uncanny timing. “Lieutenant,” he said, holding his phone between his shoulder and ear as he packed up his briefcase. “Anything new to report?”

“Not yet,” Olivia said, sounding tired but understandably happier than she had the previous day. “Reever’s still in the wind, but we’re running down all leads.” She paused for a beat before telling him, “We missed seeing you this morning at the hospital.”

Barba shrugged, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. “The DA is less understanding than NYPD brass about being late to work, though that may have something to do with the lack of an ADA’s union.”

As excuses went, it was a weak one, and Olivia didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she said, almost off-handedly, “Well, the balloons were nice, anyway.”

Barba blinked. He had almost forgotten that he had made Carmen send balloons. “I’m surprised you were still there by the time they would’ve arrived,” he muttered, a little embarrassed.

“I had to stick around for a few hours,” Olivia said. “We couldn’t get Carisi’s statement right away, since he was a little loopy when we first got there.”

“Of course,” Barba said smoothly, reverting to a thoroughly professional demeanor to cover any lingering embarrassment. “I expect you’ll fax over a copy of his statement tomorrow?”

If Olivia was taken aback by his change in demeanor, she covered it well. “Of course,” she said, pitching her tone to match Barba’s. “Normally I’d make Carisi hand-deliver it, but he’s a little unavailable.”

Barba snorted. “Make him?” he asked. “And all this time, I assumed he volunteered.”

Olivia laughed lightly. “Ignoring your high opinion of yourself,” she said in a teasing tone, “I was calling to let you know that we’re all headed over to the hospital. I thought that since you couldn’t make it this morning, you might want to join us.”

Barba had known the invitation was coming, and had even figured out ahead of time the best way to turn it down. “I appreciate the invitation, Liv, but I’ve had a long day, and I doubt I would make good company.”

Olivia was quiet for a moment before telling Barba, “He asked about you this morning.” Barba’s breath caught in his throat, even as Olivia continued, “He wanted to know whether you’d been to see him at all.”

She said it casually enough, but Barba could tell that she wanted to say something about it. “And what did you tell the detective?” he asked.

“I told him the truth — you came to the hospital when he first got hurt and spent the entire night at his side.”

Barba made a face, but it _was_ the truth, and besides, he was dying to know what Carisi’s reaction had been to that. “And what did Carisi say to that?”

Olivia laughed again. “I think he thought I was making fun of him, at least until Fin and Rollins backed me up.” She paused again. “He wants to see you, if just to thank you for the balloons.” Another pause, this one almost sly. “And the teddy bear.”

Barba closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Teddy bear?” he asked finally.

“It’s very cute,” Olivia assured him, as if  _that_ had been his concern. “Its little paw is in a sling and its little shirt says ‘wishing you a beary speedy recovery’.” She sounded far too delighted about that, and Barba took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten before exhaling in a huff. “Problem, Counselor?” Olivia asked with feigned innocence.

“Trying to decide if it’s worth it to fire my assistant or not,” he said, his voice a little sharp.

When Olivia laughed this time, it was a little too understanding. “I imagine she’s got better job security than either you or I,” she said, and Barba snorted, because she wasn’t far off. “Besides, Carisi loved it. He’s named it Rafi.”

Ok, Barba was definitely firing Carmen.

Olivia ignored Barba’s silent fuming, instead repeating her invitation. “Meet us at the hospital,” she said. “None of us have felt up to making fun of Carisi yet, and you know someone’s got to put him in his place.”

“As tempting an offer as that is, and while I _desperately_ want to meet my namesake, I have an early morning,” Barba told her. It was only a half-lie. His tone turned brusque and he ended the call by telling her, “I’ll be looking for a copy of Carisi’s statement first thing in the morning. Give the detective my best.”

He hung up before she could respond.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Carisi — in fact, there _was_ a part of Barba that desperately wanted to go to the hospital, though certainly not to meet the damned teddy bear. But the crime scene pictures and the case that Barba had spent the day building had reminded him that the side of himself that wanted nothing more than to see Carisi couldn’t be trusted.

That was perhaps a harsh indictment, but Barba couldn’t afford to be anything less than harsh, not if he wanted to put Tony Reever away for life. At least, that was what he told himself as he waited for the Uber to take him home.

But for its harshness, it was also true. Barba couldn’t afford to give into the side that wanted to see Carisi, not when he had a case to make as solid as possible. Not when he was worried about what he would do when he had to look Tony Reever in the eye on the stand.

Barba couldn’t afford to see Sonny because if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist the urge to beat Tony Reever into a bloody pulp in the middle of the courtroom just to give him a _taste_ of what he had done to Sonny. And the only way that Barba could do anything worthwhile to help Carisi would be to beat Reever with the law, not his fists. It was the only way he could be there for Carisi, or at least, it was the way he had to be at the moment.

Once back at his apartment, he made a beeline for the bottle of scotch in his cabinet, though he was wise enough tonight to order dinner from the Thai place around the corner _before_ pouring the first glass.

One glass turned into two, turned into a third with dinner, and Barba found that his excuse about needing to turn in early wasn’t that far from the truth. Besides, he assumed he would undoubtedly sleep better tonight, knowing that Carisi was awake, knowing that he’d be fine.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Every time he closed his eyes, he kept seeing the pictures of Carisi’s bruised and broken face, and Barba lay awake feeling sick to his stomach and wondering if Thai was really the best choice for dinner.

But he also knew it wasn’t the phat si-io that was making his stomach turn.

Instead, it was an innocent conversation coming back to haunt him, interspersing the images from the crime scene with Carisi smiling at him, his eyes twinkling. _“You know, a suspect threatened to punch me today,”_ he had told Barba off-handedly, one late night in Barba’s office when he was supposed to be helping Barba put together a case. _“I bet ADAs don’t get threatened nearly as much.”_

 _“By all means, let that be the reason you inflict yourself on the legal system if you pass the Bar,”_ Barba had said, glancing up from the casefile. _“Besides, ADAs get threatened as well.”_

It had been before he had told Carisi or SVU about the threats, the hang-ups, the text messages, and for a moment, Carisi’s brow had furrowed in something like concern. But he’d let it go without question, which Barba had appreciated at the time. _“Yeah, but they just threaten to kill you, probably. This guy threatened my_ face _.”_

Barba had rolled his eyes. _“Was the threat at all justified?”_ he’d asked dryly.

Carisi had broken into a wide grin. _“Probably. Definitely not the first time someone’s threatened to punch me in the face. I’m beginning to think it’s something about my face that just makes people want to punch it.”_ If it were anyone else, Barba would’ve assumed Carisi was fishing for a compliment, but instead Carisi leaned forward, his eyes crinkling with a unspoken laugh. _“Bet you’ve thought about punching me in the face.”_

_“I hate to disappoint you, Detective, but you rarely occupy any part of my thoughts, let alone the ones tempted towards physical violence.”_

Carisi’s grin had just widened. _“Bet you’ve thought about it more than once.”_

Barba had hardly been prepared to admit that some days, when Carisi was being just a touch more obnoxious than usual, he was torn between punching Carisi or grabbing him and kissing him, so he’d settled for humming in agreement, half-smiling when Carisi had laughed with something like triumph in his expression.

Even if it had been a joke, Barba didn’t know how he could ever have thought about punching Carisi, and when he finally fell into a fitful sleep, his dreams were haunted by Sonny’s sweet, laughing face morphing into the one from the crime scene photos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deus adiuvet nos omnes: God help us all.


	4. Chapter 4

“Where is he?” Barba asked in lieu of a greeting, walking into Olivia’s office with a touch of his old swagger.

Olivia glanced up at him. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” she said, a little sarcastically. “I know Carisi’s not here, but that’s no reason you can’t come visit.”

Barba rolled his eyes. “You _have_ been a little busy orchestrating a statewide manhunt over the past few days. I figured you didn’t need me breathing down your neck on top of everything else.”

Though Olivia didn’t look convinced, she nonetheless dropped the subject. “Speaking of the manhunt, New York State Police picked Tony Reever up hiding in a friend’s basement in Rochester, and he’s waiting for us in interrogation.”

“You didn’t want to start without me? Liv, I’m touched.”

“Even if I had wanted to, I couldn’t,” Olivia told him. “He lawyered up as soon as he got here.”

Barba smiled, something sharp in his expression. “Good. He’s gonna need a lawyer.” His smile softened slightly as he glanced at Olivia. “How’s Carisi doing?”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He’s doing as well as he can be,” she said. “The doctor says that he’s on track to be released from the hospital in just a few days.” She paused, her expression hardening. “Of course, if you wanted to know, you could just go to the hospital and find out for yourself.”

Before Barba could offer some kind of excuse or apology, a knock sounded on the door, and both he and Olivia turned to find John Buchanan smiling at them. “Counselor, Lieutenant,” he said, nodding at both them, something unusually polite in his tone.

Barba frowned. “You’re Tony Reever’s attorney?” he asked. “Who’s footing the bill on that?”

Buchanan just chuckled. “Mr. Reever’s parents want to make sure that their son has the best representation possible.”

“Of course,” Barba said, his lip curling. “Your client strikes me as the type who needs mommy and daddy to clean up after him.”

Buchanan didn’t seem fazed by that. “If it were your loved one, you’d understand,” he said, his tone so patronizing that even Olivia looked offended on Barba’s behalf.

Barba had to physically bite back his retort that _his_ loved one was currently lying in a hospital bed, and was so startled by even thinking of Carisi as a loved one that he ended up saying nothing in response. Buchanan didn’t mention the awkward silence, but his smile turned a little sly. “Anyway, my client is willing to take a deal. Are you willing hear him out?” Buchanan paused, a knowing glint in his eye. “Or are you too attached to your pet detective?”

Where Rita’s comment on the matter had rolled off Barba’s back, this one seemed to knock the wind out of him. Olivia’s eyes flashed and she opened her mouth to say something, but Barba glanced at her and shook his head minutely. The last thing he needed was Olivia fighting his battles for him. “I’ll listen to what your client has to say,” he said coldly, a note of warning in his voice.

Perhaps realizing that he had overstepped, Buchanan just nodded and followed Olivia and Barba into the interrogation room.

Barba was glad that Buchanan was behind him because otherwise he might’ve frozen in the doorway and just _stared_ at Carisi’s would-be killer. He had seen the pictures of him included with the casefile, of course, so he knew what he looked like, but still, seeing him face-to-face was something else.

Tony Reever was smaller than Barba had been building him up to in his head, and looked remarkably well-dressed for someone who had been hiding in a friend’s basement. The kid also looked younger than Barba expected, about — well, about the same age as Carisi, and Barba wondered for a brief moment when he stopped considering Carisi a kid and started thinking of him as, well, more.

He wanted to say that not going to see Carisi in the hospital had made confronting his attacker easier, that his fists didn’t curl at the very sight of him, or that he didn’t want to slam Reever’s smug face into the table, but it’d be a lie. The same irrational rage he’d felt looking at the crime scene photos was beginning to rise in him again, and for a wild second, he considered just flooring the asshole with a single punch.

Instead, he sat down across from him, smoothed a hand over his tie in a distracted attempt at normalcy and told him in what he hoped was his usual-sounding voice, “Mr. Reever, my name is ADA Rafael Barba. Your attorney mentioned that you would like to make a deal.”

“Yes,” Buchanan said, setting his hand heavily on his client’s shoulders in what Barba was sure was a preemptive move to stop him from talking. “My client is willing to plead guilty to first degree rape and assault of a police officer in exchange for reducing the attempted homicide charge to attempted manslaughter and twenty-five years in prison, possibility of parole after fifteen.”

Barba was stunned.

In retrospect, he wasn’t sure what he should have expected, but Buchanan was looking at him like he was offering him a _gift_ and Tony Reever looked almost _bored_ by the prospect of serving fifteen years in prison when he should be spending the rest of his _life_ behind bars. If anything, Barba wanted to up the charges, add a hate crime on top of everything else just _because_ he could, nevermind the fact that no reasonable judge would let the charge stand.

“Attempted manslaughter?” he asked instead, something almost hollow in his voice, and he forced a laugh while also forcing his fist to unclench because Olivia was beginning to give him a worried look. “Going through some interesting legal acrobatics for that one, don’t you think, Counselor?”

“Hardly,” Buchanan scoffed, as if they were sitting at a bar and having a friendly debate instead of negotiating the terms of putting an attempted murderer away. “My client was under extreme duress and reacted in misguided self-defense. He had no intention to kill Det. Carisi. And since there were no witnesses—”

He droned on, but Barba had already stopped paying attention. The lawyer in him, the one that was damned good at his job, knew that Buchanan wasn’t wrong, and that frankly, this deal was probably as good as he could get. The attempted homicide charge was always going to be sticky — no one saw the beginning of the altercation, and with Sonny’s memory of the incident a bit fuzzy in his statement, it was going to be difficult to prove intent beyond a reasonable doubt.

Besides, a deal would make sure that Carisi didn’t have to go through a trial. It wouldn’t put Olivia up on the stand where Buchanan would undoubtedly ask her about her decision to send Carisi without backup for no other reason than to embarrass her and the NYPD. And perhaps most importantly, it would finally bring an end to this entire ugly affair, and the lawyer in Barba knew that too.

But there was a part of Barba still sitting in that hospital room and stroking Sonny’s hair, a part that couldn’t seem to sleep at night anymore, a part that despite his misgivings had been falling for that stupid Staten Island accent and poofy hair and ridiculous smile for too long now to make it out unscathed. And that part was searing in Barba’s chest like a brand. That part was drawing on every ounce of self-control that Barba possessed to not reach across the table and strangle Tony Reever with his bare hands.

That part wasn’t thinking like a lawyer in the slightest.

And that scared Barba almost as much as anything else had.

It took him a moment to realize that Buchanan had stopped talking and was now looking at him expectantly. “Problem, Counselor?” Buchanan asked, sounding almost amused.

“Just considering the merits of your proposal,” Barba said, as smoothly as he could, ignoring the look that Olivia gave him.

“And?” Buchanan pressed. “Do we have a deal?”

Barba stood and buttoned his suit coat. “I’ll continue considering it,” he said flatly. “My office will be in touch.”

With that, he turned and left, well aware that Olivia was hot on his heels and bursting to say something. “You’re actually considering taking a deal?” she demanded. “He would’ve killed Sonny if he could’ve!”

“You know that, I know that, convincing a jury of that is another thing entirely,” Barba said, sounding as tired as he suddenly felt. “And while I certainly don’t doubt my abilities, I do lack faith in twelve of New York’s best and brightest jurors being wholly convinced to throw the book at him, even if it’s no less than he deserves.”

“So just like that, it’s over?”

Olivia sounded almost disappointed, and Barba had to rein in his anger before he snapped at her. “It’s not over until I say it’s over,” he said instead. “In the meantime, you’ve got the bastard in custody. Book him and call over to Rikers to let them know they’ll have company — there’s no way a judge lets him out on bail. And take it as a win, Lieutenant.”

Whatever Olivia’s reply would have been was lost by the interrogation room door opening and Buchanan stepping out. For a moment, it looked like he was going to make a joke, but apparently even Buchanan was capable of reading the tension in Barba’s shoulders and the look on Olivia’s face, and he rearranged his expression into something more somber. “For the record, I was very sorry to hear about what happened to Det. Carisi.”

Barba rolled his eyes and turned away — the last thing he needed to hear was false sympathy from John Buchanan. As he walked away, he heard Buchanan call after him, “Make sure to weigh your options, Barba. It’s as good a deal as you’re gonna get.”

The worst part was, Barba knew it was true.

He just didn’t want to believe it.

* * *

 

If Rita had been surprised to get Barba’s phone call, she hid it well, both on the phone with him and when she slid onto the barstool next to his, taking a sip of the martini he had thoughtfully ordered for her. “Don’t think I don’t know that you only called me because Mr. Fordham Law is unavailable for you to bounce legal ideas off of,” she said without preamble.

Barba didn’t smile. “Did the Reevers call your office as well as Buchanan’s?”

Rita shrugged. “I wouldn’t know,” she said delicately, pretending to be very interested in examining her fingernails. “You’d have to ask my secretary. But she knows that there are some cases I would never take.”

It was as close to an admission as Barba was ever going to get, and he nodded, looking down at the untouched glass of scotch in front of him. “Thank you.”

“So, to business,” Rita said briskly. “Judging by the look on your face and the fact that you haven’t taken a sip of that very fine single malt, I’m guessing Buchanan wants a deal.” She didn’t wait for Barba to confirm it. “Let me guess, drop the attempted homicide charge in exchange for 25 years, parole after twelve.”

Barba’s lips twitched with as close to amusement as he could muster. “Actually, it’s reduce the attempted homicide to attempted manslaughter, and 25 years with parole after fifteen.”

Rita looked at him carefully as she took another sip of her martini. “It’s a better deal than I would offer,” she said finally.

And while Barba knew that, it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear. “I know that,” he snapped, waspish because he knew it was true. “I just don’t know if I can take it.”

“Why not?” Rita asked, though both he and she knew that she already knew or at least suspected the answer.

Still, Barba told her anyway, and he knew deep down that this was the real reason why he had wanted to talk to Rita, because he had to get this weight off his chest and Rita Calhoun for her many faults was also one of the closest things that Barba had to a friend outside of the DA’s office or NYPD.

“Because Sonny could have _died_ ,” Barba said, curling his hand into a fist to stop it from shaking. “Because after Tony Reever was done with him, it took a miracle of modern medicine for him to still be _breathing_ . Because Sonny is in a hospital bed and Tony Reever spent the past week hiding out in a friend’s basement. Because that bastard _hurt_ him and then ran away and because I’m not allowed to hurt him back.”

He broke off, not wanting to continue the train of thought of just how much he wanted to hurt Tony Reever. Instead, he took a deep breath and told Rita, almost tonelessly, “My only recourse is the law, and right now, it’s failing me.”

There was no sympathy in Rita’s expression, and Barba was thankful for that as well. He didn’t think he could stomach Rita’s pity right now. “It’s not,” Rita said, her voice even and controlled. “The law is not failing ADA Rafael Barba. The law is doing exactly what it’s supposed to do and giving you a pretty significant win without ever even going to trial.”

She paused, but Barba didn’t contradict her, and so she continued, “If the law feels like it’s failing you now, it’s because you’re not looking at this case like a lawyer. You’re looking at it like someone whose loved one was almost killed, and it doesn’t seem fair that the person responsible gets off so easily.”

“Sonny deserves justice,” Barba said, a little hollowly.

Rita nodded. “Det. Carisi does deserve justice. So does Samantha Martin, the poor girl whose rape started this all.” Barba felt a hot swoop of something like shame at the realization that not once that entire day had he thought about the girl who Tony Reever raped. “But your job isn’t to get them justice. Your job is to get justice for crimes committed against the people of the State of New York.”

Barba’s jaw clenched. “You’re saying that I’m making this personal.”

“I’m saying that it _is_ personal,” Rita corrected, examining him carefully. “And while that doesn’t mean that you can’t still do your job…”

She trailed off, because Barba understood and had all along. He had just wanted — validation, or confirmation, or something.

He stared down at his drink. “I can’t take the deal,” he said finally.

Rita didn’t look surprised by that. “Then you know what you have to do.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to everyone who's read/kudos'd/commented, etc. I appreciate it beyond words!!

When Barba saw Olivia’s name on his cellphone’s caller ID the next morning, he already knew what she was going to say, and he took a deep breath before answering. “You recused yourself?” Olivia demanded accusingly without preamble.

She sounded surprised, and a little hurt, and Barba pinched the bridge of his nose before smoothing the tie he was wearing that day — his turquoise tie, which Carisi had once jokingly called his favorite. “I had to,” he said simply. “There was a conflict of interest.”

Olivia didn’t bother questioning him about the conflict of interest, and Barba didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted by her obvious assumptions. “Well, you should know that the ADA they called in to replace you has already accepted Buchanan’s deal,” she said, disdain coloring her voice.

Barba shrugged even though he knew that she couldn’t see him. “It was a good deal,” he said quietly. “They’d be foolish not to take it.”

There was a pause that made it clear Olivia wanted to say more, but instead she asked, “Where are you now?”

“In an Uber on my way to the hospital,” Barba told her, trying not to sound as nervous as he was. “I wanted to tell Carisi in person that I recused myself — and to explain why.”

There was another pause, this one long enough for Barba to wonder what exactly Olivia was thinking. But then she said, a little hesitantly. “I think Carisi may already know. About the recusal, at least.”

“How?” Barba asked.

“Rollins called him as soon as she found out,” Olivia said, and there was just a little bit of self-satisfied smugness in her voice. “I didn’t overhear the whole conversation, but it sounded like there was a lot of swearing on Carisi’s end.” Barba rolled his eyes and sighed. “Just to give you fair warning.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant,” Barba said dryly.

Olivia hesitated before adding, “Keep in mind that Rollins couldn’t tell him why you did it. You have that on your side at least. And I have a feeling that, provided your explanation is adequate, he may just forgive you.”

“And what about you?” Barba asked. “Can you ever possibly forgive me?”

He was mostly joking, but Olivia answered the question seriously. “That depends entirely on how your conversation with Carisi goes.”

Barba figured that was a hell of a foreboding way to start this whole thing. “Well, I appreciate your support,” he said, a little sarcastically, before hanging up.

Of course, Olivia had a point, and it only added to the mess of nerves causing Barba’s stomach to flip-flop as the Uber pulled up to the hospital. Barba was well aware that many things depended on this conversation with Carisi, and while he certainly didn’t want to assume any outcome, he had to prepare for the worst.

And the worst could conceivably mean that whichever ADA had been so quick to take Buchanan’s deal would probably end up working with SVU. Not because Barba would get into any trouble at work — he had informally disclosed the circumstances when he spoke to the DA earlier that morning to recuse himself, and his job wasn’t in jeopardy — but because he was fairly certain that he would never be able to set foot in the precinct again if Dominick Carisi Jr. turned him down.

He had some semblance of a reputation to maintain.

Making snide comments to himself kept his nerves down enough to get him through the hospital entrance and up to Carisi’s floor, but as he approached the hospital room, he felt his stomach tie itself into knots. But he had come this far, and there was only one thing left to do: he knocked on the door and poked his head in.

Sonny looked up at him and Barba sucked in a breath because while he had been imagining this moment in his head all week, apparently his imagination forgot to take into account how slowly it took bruises to fade, and Carisi’s face was still a mix of mottled bluish-green and sickly yellow. Between that, the chunk of hair Carisi was missing from where they had to shave his head, the few days’ worth of stubble on Carisi’s cheeks and the lack of product in his remaining hair, Carisi looked _rough_.

But it was a hell of a lot better than looking dead, and Barba felt a genuine smile break across his face. “Detective,” he said, his voice suddenly husky.

Carisi sat upright in bed, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Barba. “What the hell, Barba!” he half-shouted. “You recused yourself? Why?” Barba sighed and took a step into the hospital room, holding his hands up placatingly, but Carisi was on a roll. “Do you honestly not care about convicting this guy and putting him away? I mean, listen, I get it, I clearly know where I rank since you haven’t even bothered to come visit, but even if you didn’t want to do it for me—”

Barba was honestly barely listening because Carisi’s hair looked so soft without all the gel in it and he wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through Carisi’s hair and then hold him like he would never let go.

He of course did not say that, instead interrupting Carisi to say, with a touch of his usual impatient snark, “Perhaps if you’d let me get a word in edgewise, I’d be able to explain.”

Carisi huffed a sigh and crossed his arms in front of his chest as best as he could, since one of his arms was in a cast. “Fine,” he said. “Then explain.”

Barba sighed and cautiously took a seat next to Carisi’s bed, half-expecting Carisi to tell him that he wasn’t allowed. But as he sat, Barba caught sight of the small teddy bear tucked in against Carisi’s side. It looked exactly like Olivia had described it, and Barba felt his smile widen. Despite everything, Carisi had kept the stupid teddy bear, which had to mean something (the least of which was that Carmen probably deserved a raise), and it was in a considerably better mood that he looked over at Carisi, who was watching him warily. “What do you remember about the ethics of prosecutorial conduct from law school?”

For a moment, Carisi just stared at him blankly, then gave him a brief, lopsided grin as he said, “Ya know, I did suffer a traumatic brain injury, Counselor. Maybe asking me to dredge up shit from law school isn’t the best idea right now.” Barba looked chagrined and Sonny snickered. “You should see the look on your face,” he said before his own expression suddenly turned serious. “Uh, I don’t remember much, and not because of my injuries. I know judges are ruled by the state ethics board, but beyond vague guidelines set out by the New York Bar Association, lawyers and prosecutors have a lot more leeway for recusal, right?”

“Right,” Barba said, and even though Carisi was still glaring daggers at him, Barba couldn’t miss the way that he lit up at the slightest hint of praise from him. Some things never change. “And what are some of the reasons that a prosecutor might recuse himself for ethical reasons?”

“Conflict of interest,” Carisi said promptly, his brow furrowed. “Normally, like, a financial interest in a company pertinent to the investigation, or, like, a family member or close friend is either victim, defendant or witness.” He gave Barba a look. “But I’m not a family member or close friend.”

Barba didn’t miss the way Carisi bit off the last word. “No, you’re not,” he said honestly, because he and Carisi had never been great friends, and if Barba had his way, they’d end up far more than that. “But my judgment on the case was clouded nonetheless. There was a deal on the table, and I couldn’t bring myself to take it.”

Carisi nodded slowly, though he looked far from convinced. “Was it a good deal?”

“As good a deal as a prosecutor could probably get,” Barba said, leaning back in the chair, a dark look on his face. “Which is how I knew that in this instance, I wasn’t able to my job properly. I wanted to take this case to court to get at least life in prison — which is frankly better than that bastard deserves — purely because of who the victim was. That is the definition of prosecutorial bias, and the defense would have a field day using that to their advantage.” He shrugged. “Which meant my only option was recusal.”

Though Carisi nodded again, he still looked a little confused. “But why did it matter who the victim was?”

Barba stared at him, assuming Carisi would have put it together by now. “Because the victim was you,” he said, like it was obvious. “Because while you may not be a family member yet, I would love to see that change in the future.”

It didn’t come out the way that he wanted it to, and it certainly didn’t even begin to say everything that he had wanted, but it was out there now and he practically held his breath as Carisi’s forehead creased while he worked through what Barba was trying to say. A look of stunned realization flashed across Carisi’s face the moment he understood it, followed by an almost imperceptible smile that Barba was conceited enough to think he’d be alone in noticing, followed by something that might be panic, and ending on careful, neutral calculation. “Oh,” Carisi said, finally.

Barba nodded. “Oh,” he echoed, waiting for Carisi to say more.

Carisi stared up at the ceiling contemplatively. “You know,” he said slowly, “for someone who wants to, uh, make me a member of his family or something, you sure haven’t come visited a lot.”

“I know,” Barba said, wincing slightly. “I wanted to, I just — couldn’t.”

Carisi gave him a look that he told him he didn’t buy that excuse for a moment. “That seems to be a common theme with you today, Counselor,” he said, though there was no malice in his tone, and he was clearly waiting for Barba to say more.

So Barba did. “I stayed with you that whole first night,” he said, embarrassed by how pained his own voice sounded as he remember what that first night was like. “And I hated seeing you in here. I hated seeing you attached to machines and not moving and — well, I’d say I hated you not running your mouth every five minutes, but we’re getting too far from reality there.” Carisi snorted but didn’t comment, and Barba raised an eyebrow at his self-restraint, though he chose not to comment on it. “You looked so — so—” He cast around for the right word before settling on, “dead”, and his voice shook when he spat the word. “You looked like you were dead. And I left that morning wanting to kill the bastard who did that to you.

“Despite that, I was still determined at the time to prosecute this case, and I knew that meant I wouldn’t be able to come back and see you, not if I wanted to keep my anger at the perpetrator under control.” He snorted and shook his head. “Not that it mattered, since when I did see him, I still wanted to smash his face in.”

Barba was reveling in saying the words out loud, in finally being able to give voice to feelings that had threatened to consume him over the past week. He was also enjoying watching Carisi’s facial expressions in response to everything Barba said. There was so much more he wanted to tell Carisi, to explain just how much it hurt Barba seeing Carisi lying in a hospital bed when Carisi was warmth and light and movement stretched into clothes just this side of ill-fitting and that Barba loved that about him.

There’d be time to say all that and more.

Besides, Carisi’s brow was furrowed again, as if he was trying to make sense of something. “So if I’m understanding correctly, Counselor,” Carisi said slowly, “you didn’t come see me because you wanted to help me?”

Barba made a face. “Well, when you word it like that…” he muttered.

“And you’re also saying that you recused yourself because of me.”

“Yes," Barba said, waiting for Sonny to get to whatever point he was tiptoeing towards.

Carisi’s eyes widened slightly. “So just to verify,” he started, a weird, almost nervous look on his face, “when you said that you want me to be a member of your family, you meant, like, you and me — like, together, like, dating, right?” Barba stared at him, because how the hell else was he supposed to have meant it? “Not like, you and one of my sisters and me as your brother-in-law, right?”

“Jesus Christ, Sonny,” Barba huffed, rolling his eyes so hard it practically hurt.

A small grin flitted across Carisi’s face before he said, a touch defensive, “Hey, it’s a valid question, and it’s not my fault that your wording was ambiguous—”

Barba cut him off by closing the space between them and kissing him.

As far as first kisses went, it was nothing special. No fireworks exploding, no seismic shift in the universe. The angle was awkward because of the railing on the hospital bed, and besides, it was difficult for Barba to fit everything he wanted to say into a single kiss, from ‘please stop talking’ to ‘I’m sorry for not visiting and for what happened to you and for not being able to get you the justice to deserve’ to ‘I love you’, which meant it had too high of expectations to live up to.

But it also felt so _perfect_ , so _right_ , like they had done this a million times before — and like they’d do it a million times more. And nothing could beat a first kiss like that.

Barba rested his forehead against Carisi’s for a moment, finally indulging his desire to run his fingers through Carisi’s hair, and it was as soft as he had hoped. “Is that unambiguous enough for you?” he asked, his smile too wide for him to be truly sarcastic. “Because I promise, I don’t want to date one of your sisters.”

“Well, you might end up changing your mind when you meet them,” Carisi said, a little breathlessly, his own grin stretched wide across his face. “I mean, Theresa’s quite a looker.”

He actually waggled his eyebrows at Barba, who rolled his eyes and kissed Carisi again, once again to shut him up. “Do any of your sisters talk less than you?” Barba asked when they again broke apart. “Because then I really might change my mind.”

Carisi’s grin didn’t fade. “Are you gonna kiss me every time you want me to stop talking?”

Barba gave him a look. “Don’t tempt me.”

Without warning, Carisi’s smile disappeared. “Hang on,” he said, his brow puckering again. “You recused yourself.”

“Is there a reason you’re not grasping the concept? Do I need to get a nurse?” Barba asked, only half-joking.

Carisi gave him a disgruntled look. “No, of course not,” he snapped, and Barba was so thrown by his change in mood that he didn’t even manage a retort. “I just...what did you tell the DA when you recused yourself?”

Barba blinked. “I told him the truth,” he said, surprised. “Or at least, the basics of it. I told him there was a conflict of interest due to personal feelings.”

Carisi relaxed slightly. “So you didn’t mention me.”

“No, but despite what some may say, the DA is not a stupid man,” Barba said. “And he was well-aware when he hired me of my...proclivities, as some have called them, so I don’t think it would take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.” He gave Carisi a concerned look. “What is this about?”

Carisi worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “I’m just not sure if I…”

He trailed off, and Barba’s heart sank. “Of course,” he said, sitting back in the chair, every mannerism reverting to professional, his final refuge. “I completely understand. And I assure you, I made it clear that the feelings were solely on my end. I would certainly never presume how you felt, let alone tell anyone else about it.”

“Barba,” Carisi started, but Barba ignored him.

“And certainly, I understand that this could make things awkward for you at work, so you should know that no one at SVU knows the reason for my recusal. Only you and the DA know that.” His expression was impassive when he added coolly, “And I would appreciate it if it stayed that way.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Barba scowled at him. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.

But Carisi was smiling again, grinning, really, as he repeated. “You’re an idiot. You really think I don’t have feelings for you?”

“I—” Barba started, breaking off in an unusual show of inarticulateness. “I just assumed that was the reason for your concern.”

“Barba, I’ve been wanting to jump your bones since our very first case together,” Carisi said patiently, ignoring Barba, who mouthed ‘jump your bones?’ like he couldn’t quite believe Carisi had actually just used that expression. “So much so that my priest has actually asked me to stop bringing it up in confession.”

If Barba was surprised before, he was downright incredulous now. “You’ve mentioned me in confession?”

Carisi laughed. “Well, yeah,” he said casually, like it was no big deal, though to Barba, who knew how important Catholicism was to Carisi, it was definitely a big deal, “if you can’t mention the people you love during confession, when can you?

Barba’s mouth went dry. The conversation had done such a 180 in such a short amount of time — not even three minutes ago, he had thought that Carisi didn’t reciprocate his feelings, and now he was tossing around ‘love’ like it was no big deal. Then again, Barba had started this all by basically saying he wanted to marry Carisi, so who was really at fault here?

He cleared his throat. “So if your feelings aren’t the issue, what is your concern with my telling the DA?” he asked, trying to get the conversation just slightly back on track.

Carisi’s smile faded slightly and he shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m ready to be out at work yet.”

“Oh.” Barba relaxed and even managed a smile. “Is that all? Because it’s actually better for all parties if we’re not out at work — unless you want to reconsider taking that job at the Brooklyn DA’s office. There’d be no conflict of interest there — also it’d be significantly less likely that you’d be nearly beaten to death by a perp.”

Carisi rolled his eyes. “Tempting as that thought may be, for the moment, I’m happy at SVU.” He shot Barba a questioning look. “But you’re fine with not being out at work?”

Barba shrugged. “I’ve never _not_ been out and I certainly don’t intend on going back in the metaphoric closet, but keeping a relationship on the downlow is something I would want to do regardless of involved parties. If you were expecting grand gestures of love in the squad room, Detective, you’ve set your sights on the wrong man.” Carisi snorted and Barba continued, “You’ll need to disclose to Olivia, of course, and any cases that you’re lead on will have to be prosecuted by someone else. But beyond that, and provided you don’t try to get yourself killed again, we shouldn’t have any issues.”

“Thankfully, I don’t think I’m going to be lead on a case anytime soon,” Carisi said dryly, gesturing vaguely at his various broken body parts.

“Fair point,” Barba allowed. “But I do mean it — our work relationship will not change, so if that’s your only concern, it’s a non-issue. And besides—”

He broke off because Carisi was staring at him with such a soft look on his face that Barba wanted nothing more than to kiss him again.

So he did.

And this, _this_ was the kiss with the fireworks, as Sonny finally kissed him back with all the enthusiasm that Barba had originally assumed he would, his cast-free hand gripping the back of Barba’s neck, his mouth opening against Barba’s, his tongue running over Barba’s bottom lip, his—

His eyes widening as he let out a hiss of pain, and Barba practically jumped back, realizing too late that he had accidentally put his weight on Sonny’s broken ribs. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, a bit shamefaced.

Carisi forestalled any further apology with an almost Barba-esque eyeroll. “Come back,” he ordered, with just a hint of a pout.

“Ordering me around, are you, Detective?” Barba asked, though he was more than happy to obey.

“Figured I’d try it out,” Carisi shot back with his usual grin, and he snaked his arm around Barba’s waist and kissed him again lightly. “So we’re really doing this.”

Barba gave him a look. “No, you’re still concussed. When you wake up it’ll all have been a dream.”

“That’s not funny,” Carisi told him, but he was holding back a laugh. His smile softened. “I just can’t believe that I’m the conflict of interest that brought the great Rafael Barba down.”

“You’re far more than just a conflict of interest,” Barba told him, though he couldn’t resist adding, “Besides, I just didn’t want to give Buchanan the satisfaction of taking the damn plea deal.”

Now Carisi did laugh, and Barba smiled as well. Carisi kissed him once more before his expression again turned serious, though there was still a twinkle in his eye. “Man, I’m gonna have so much to tell my priest when I finally get to go to confession.”

Barba groaned and rolled his eyes. “And now I’ve changed my mind. Tell me again, which of your sisters are single?”

Carisi just laughed. 

They had so much more to work out — personnel forms and living arrangements and telling Olivia what she almost certainly already knew and actually going on a first date at some point — but for the moment, Barba allowed himself to forget about all of that, to put aside the lawyer part of him that needed everything neatly broken down and analyzed, and to just revel in the feeling of holding the hand of the man he loved, the man he had almost lost, and the man who loved him as well.

It may have been the mother of all conflicts of interest, but Barba was pretty sure nothing in the world had ever felt so right.


End file.
